The Heretic
by Alyyang123
Summary: PJO-HP AU. GEN. Harry Potter is in danger. After the disastrous results of the Triwizard Tournament, Albus Dumbledore decides enough is enough. Instead, he arranges for Harry to have some hired protection, in the form of Annabeth Chase, a blonde-haired, uncannily intelligent girl shrouded in mysteries.


_the heretic_

alyyang123

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' _It's funny how humans can wrap their mind around things and fit them into their version of reality._ ' -Chiron, The Lightning Thief

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 **Chapter One-**

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Harry Potter woke up with a mouthful of rosebush.

For a second, he nearly forgot where he was and how exactly he had gotten there, before realizing that he must have fallen asleep in Aunt Petunia's prized flowerbeds trying to eavesdrop on the telly again. The afternoon was nearing to an abrupt end, the sun already three-quarters across the sky, and with a resigned air he acknowledged that today, like all the other days since summer break had started, was a dead end.

He spat out a half-chewed rose petal, wishing for once that he had some pumpkin juice on hand to remove the bitter aftertaste from his tongue. He was hot and sweaty as well, having lay in the sun for countless hours, and Harry was certain that he did not smell particularly pleasant either. Perhaps he could sneak into the house for a shower without any of his relatives noticing, although the chance of it actually happening was highly unlikely.

He pulled himself with the help of the windowsill above him, careful not to knock his head against the edge of the open window. Thankfully, the living room was empty, the occupants having moved on to more demanding tasks when the afternoon news had concluded. He stood for a rather long moment, just watching the vacant street as his legs regained the feeling in it, and then tensed as something prickled uneasily in his sixth sense.

He was being watched.

A nearby bush rustled and Harry jumped, grabbing his wand from his pocket and pointing it at the source of the noise. His heart was pounding against his chest, and he found that he could not breathe, his throat constricted with fear. Was this how he was going end? Was he going to die a painful and insignificant death, leaving his friends to the mercy of Voldemort? He could already imagine the headlines in the Muggle newspapers the next day: _KNOWN DELINQUENT FOUND DEAD IN RESIDENCE, LOCAL POLICE BAFFLED BY CAUSE OF DEATH._

"You're rather paranoid, aren't you?" The bushes finally parted to reveal a small girl, perhaps the size of a first year, with curly blond hair and piercing grey eyes. The way she talked was strange, an accent he did not recognize, and there was a slight undertone of bemusement in her words as if she found his fear amusing. He did not release his wand, however. This could all be a trick by Voldemort to make him let his guard down. And then the girl would attack him when he was most vulnerable.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying not to sound as scared as he felt. "Did Voldemort send you? Are you hear to kill me?" Regardless of how ridiculous the notion of a twelve-year old girl being sent to kill him was, he wasn't taking any chances.

The girl stared at him as if he were mentally challenged. "Of course not," she snapped angrily. He had to admit her grey eyes were slightly intimidating, almost worse than Hermione when something set her off. "Albus arranged for me to watch over you until he was assured of your safety."

"Albus...?" Harry wondered, trying to recall a face to the unfamiliar name. "I don't think I know anybody named Albus... wait a second- _Dumbledore_? _Dumbledore_ was the one who sent you here to watch over me?"

" _Yes,_ " the girl said, clearly annoyed by that point. "Dumbledore, Albus, whatever you people prefer to call him. I'm Annabeth, daughter of Pallas Athene. I take it that you're the mortal, Harry James Potter."

Harry nodded uncertainly, still wary of the girl. "Er... yes. But just call me Harry, please. Who is Palace-A-Thing? What is your purpose here?"

Annabeth made a shushing motion at him, and he quieted immediately although some part of him wondered why he was following the instructions of a girl who couldn't have been much older then eleven or twelve. It was then he realized he was still pointing his wand at her, and set it down hastily.

"We don't have time to explain that in the present moment, but for now all I can tell you is that I'm not a wizard. An entire existence completely, you might say. And I came because somebody clearly has ill intentions against you, and that they've summoned monsters to the town. I've disposed of them for now, but who knows when they'll respawn. Especially since they feed off despair and negative energy so easily..."

"Feed off despair and negative energy... _dementors_? Did the monsters, by any chance, wear hooded cloaks and float in the air?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling a sinking feeling in his gut. What were dementors doing in Little Whinging? Who _was_ this girl, to not be a wizard and yet have the ability to see them? A Squib, perhaps?

She shot him a curious look, as if she hadn't expected him to ask the question. "Yes. I believe you wizards call them by that name. You don't have to worry about them now, however. All you need to focus on is getting out of here."

" _How_?" he asked, glancing dubiously at the girl. She was empty-handed, And then- "Why should I trust you? This could all be a trap set by Voldemort."

Annabeth snorted. "Didn't we just go over that? I told you, Albus- Dumbledore, I mean- sent me here to protect you from the monsters- you called them _dementors_ , right? And if you want proof, I've got it all with me." Seemingly out of nowhere, she pulled out a sealed envelope and shoved it in his hands.

Harry anxiously tore open the envelope, impatient to at least know _something_ after an entire summer's worth of ignorance. Inside was a letter on parchment rather similar to the one Hogwarts used to send materials and book lists, and immediately he knew that the girl was not lying.

 _Harry-  
I __must state my obvious regret that I myself am not here to accompany you on your departure from your aunt and uncle's house. Instead, I have sent Miss Annabeth Chase in my place. Rest assured, as she can be trusted.  
-A. Dumbledore_

The letter was written in emerald ink, the same shade as his eyes, and he skimmed over the words again and again, soaking in the message hungrily. He noted, quite disappointedly, that there was few to no information in the letter worth knowing, except for the fact that he was _finally_ leaving 4 Privet Drive, and that Annabeth's last name was Chase.

Chase was a British surname, wasn't it? Harry suddenly thought, confused. Then why did Annabeth have such a peculiar accent? Why did Dumbledore trust her so much, even to entrust Harry's safety to her? _Who exactly was she?_

"I told you already, I'm Annabeth, daughter of Pallas Athene," Annabeth said, annoyed, and Harry realized that he had voiced his last thought out loud. "We need to get out of here, and soon. Do you need to bring anything from your home?"

"This isn't my home," Harry said automatically, before realizing how strange he must sound. "I mean, er, I've been living here for most of my life, and technically, it's my _house_ \- but it isn't my home. Hogwarts is home. Not here. And, erm, I have to go upstairs to get my stuff."

"Hmm," she said, neither an affirming nor denying syllable. "I'll go with you, then. I need to explain everything to your Aunt and Uncle, including why you're leaving."

Harry snorted. "There's no need to tell them _why_. They'll just be glad that I'm leaving, period," he said, surprised at the bitterness in his own voice. "They'll probably pay you overtime to keep me away from them for another week or so. No freaks to ruin their day, that's what they'll think."

Annabeth sighed, as if she knew something Harry didn't. "Let's go," she said, walking away from the bushes. Harry followed her, careful to avoid the rosebushes Aunt Petunia had planted after she had deemed the garden too dull for her to keep face in front of the neighbors.

Annabeth rang the buzzer twice. As Harry stood awkwardly behind her, shifting his weight from foot to foot, he finally registered her odd choice of clothing. She wore a grey jumper about three sizes too large, and underneath, a black halter skirt that reached mid-calf. It was not completely ridiculous-looking, like how many wizards tended to dress when disguised as Muggles, but rather strange in such a small town as Little Whinging, nonetheless.

The door opened slightly, and Uncle Vernon's large face glared suspiciously outside. "Who is it-" he grunted, staring down at Annabeth, before he realized Harry's presence behind her. "Boy! What are you doing here? Where were you this afternoon, skulking around in the flowerbeds again?"

"You must be Vernon Dursley," Annabeth said pleasantly, extending a hand. "I am Annabeth Chase, daughter of Pallas Athene and Head Camper of the Athena Cabin at Camp Half-Blood. I have been assigned the mission to keep your nephew safe, and by that, I'm afraid I'll have to borrow him for a few weeks." She smiled, looking to all the world as if she was just another twelve year old girl who liked to gossip on the streets about boys while eating ice-cream.

Uncle Vernon gaped at her, his face rapidly turning a strange combination of purple and white. "What... ruddy... who..." Harry didn't blame him, seeing how he was just as confused by her cryptic words.

"We'll be going, then, thank you," Annabeth said, brushing past a frozen Uncle Vernon. "Come on, Harry. I told you, we don't have enough time." Harry followed her, well aware that he was tracking dirt into the house from his afternoon spent in the flower bushes, and that Aunt Petunia would have a fit when she found out.

His room was in clear disarray, as he had not bothered to tidy up after himself in the days he had spent brooding over the lack of news about Voldemort. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where'd he tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mess of Muggle clothes and wizard's robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.

Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily in the trunk. Annabeth paused at the threshold, surveying the chaos with clear distaste. "You're doing it wrong," she said, picking up a rather battered copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ left beside the doorway. "Here, let me do it."

He moved to the side, watching, wide-eyed, as she expertly folded his clothes away into the trunk. The books came in next, and then his Potions scales, his Astronomy telescope, his Firebolt and then more clothes- by the time it was over, she had managed to shove his trunk closed and the room was reasonably cleaner

"We need to get out of here," Annabeth said, turning to face him. "I can sense somebody summoning more of those _things_ \- Dementors, you called them- and if we stay here any longer, it's not going to be pretty. We can make it to the Safe House if we use pegasi, but only if we leave now."

Harry's head whirled. Pegasi? Safe House? It sounded almost too ridiculous to be true, as if this were another of the strange dreams he had had before he had moved out of the cupboard. He could almost imagine Hagrid's voice, as loud and clear as the day they had met, saying sagely, ' _Harry, yer a'_ \- what had Annabeth called him again? Oh yes, a '- _mortal.'_

Annabeth shoved open the small window on Harry's bedroom, spilling the last dregs of daylight into the tenebrous room, before whistling loudly into the open air. Harry sat forward, slightly eager to see what mysterious creatures she was summoning and if he could recognize it from his Care of Magical Creatures curriculum.

Nothing happened,

Annabeth seemed unperturbed, however, instead more focused on making sure Harry's trunk was closed tightly. "Alright, he should be coming any minute now."

" _He_?" Harry asked, puzzled. "I thought you were summoning a pegasi."

"I _am_ ," Annabeth said matter-of-factly, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "His name is Blackjack. He shouldn't bite, unless you provoke him. Also, he likes donuts." For some reason her expression became wistful, and she stared at the sky outside in a muted melancholy. "I don't know what's taking him so long- _ah_ , there he is."

She pointed to a small black speck in the sky, biting her lip. It seemed to be steadily getting bigger, and Harry blinked once, twice, because _surely he couldn't be seeing things right-_ there was a handsome black mustang, galloping through the sky, with two large obsidian wings jutting through its back.

The pegasi stopped neatly outside the window, snorting loudly. "Easy, boy," Annabeth said, reaching out a hand to stroke the long black mane. "Blackjack, this is Harry Potter. I have to make sure he doesn't get killed."

Blacjack tilted his head, staring at Harry with large, beady eyes, before making a series of strange clicking sounds with his tongue.

"I know," Annabeth said sadly. "He really does resemble _him_ , doesn't he?" Harry pinched his arm, wondering if he was dreaming. His wrist smarted painfully, although nothing else changed.

Blackjack pawed at the air, snorting again. "Alright," Annabeth said, hoisting Harry's trunk and Hedwig, who hooted irritably, onto the back of the pegasi. "Let's go. Keep a good grip on your stuff, it might fall if you aren't careful."

Harry clambered out of the window clumsily, suddenly reminded of the summer of his second year where he had done essentially the same thing, only onto a flying car instead. "I'm ready," he said, wrapping his arms around his trunk and Hedwig's cage.

"Come on, Blackjack," Annabeth said, effortlessly swinging in front of him, and then they were off.


End file.
